


Mr. Pratchett, But I Prefer "Sir"

by Maarkriifaas



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, I'm so sorry, You Were My Hero
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 14:04:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3532040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maarkriifaas/pseuds/Maarkriifaas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Yes, we knew each other quite well. Is it that time already?" The old man's hands shook, but the calm in his voice was evident. "I guess you know what they say, the two things you can't avoid are taxes and.." He trailed off, looking into the blue supernovas.</p><p>I AM AFRAID SO. COME, MR PRATCHETT. WE HAVE MUCH TO TALK ABOUT IN THE NEXT, Death paused, checking the hourglass, SIX MINUTES EXACTLY. DO YOU HAVE ANY BISCUITS? OR CURRY?</p><p>"I prefer sir, if you don't mind. Or knight. That title has always had me tickled pink," he said, chuckling and taking the hand of his old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. Pratchett, But I Prefer "Sir"

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry.  
> I'm so sorry.  
> This isn't fair. And I want to remember you like this.  
> I hope Death did use the sword. (for royalty)

"I would like to write... something. I can't seem to remember what." Knobbly hands kneaded the paper painfully between his thumbs. "Nurse, could you remind me?" he asked the empty room. Even as the last few grains of sand disappeared through the tiny hole in the hourglass, the old man practically glowed.

SQUEAK.

I AGREE. IT IS A SHAME.

SQUEAK.

THAT IS FOR HIM TO DECIDE. WE BOTH KNOW THAT. Death tapped his bony fingers against the sheathed sword, the edge gleaming sharply enough to cut light itself in half. THOUGH I'LL ADMIT I'M CURIOUS IF MY TIME IS COMING TO AN END TOO. He checked his own hourglass again, black sand moving gently, but never quite decreasing. The ebony feathers clicked against his hand while he tossed it lightly back and forth, then stowed it away in his cloak again. Pulling on Binky's reins, he walked up to hover over him.

Finally looking up, a smile wrinkled with age met his toothy grin. Terry looked much older than the last time, Death noted, though it had only been eight or nine years ago now since he'd first come knocking. "Ah, it's you. The anthropomorphic personification."

THE ONE AND ONLY.

SQUEAK.

TWO.

"Yes, we knew each other quite well. Is it that time already?" The old man's hands shook, but the calm in his voice was evident. "I guess you know what they say, the two things you can't avoid are taxes and.." He trailed off, looking into the blue supernovas.

I AM AFRAID SO. COME, MR PRATCHETT. WE HAVE MUCH TO TALK ABOUT IN THE NEXT, Death paused, checking the hourglass, SIX MINUTES EXACTLY. DO YOU HAVE ANY BISCUITS? OR CURRY?

"I prefer sir, if you don't mind. Or knight. That title has always had me tickled pink," he said, chuckling and taking the hand of his old friend. "And no, I'm terribly sorry. There are one or two more questions I have for you though."

I SUPPOSE I CAN HUMOR A DYING MAN.

"Pish. Don't talk like that, you've seen plenty. Besides, didn't I say myself one cannot truly die until each ripple of his existence has vanished?" Terry cleared his throat again. "I think I did, come to mention it. Is it normal that I can remember again, so close to the end?"

I DON'T KNOW MYSELF. WE'VE NEVER DEALT WITH THIS TYPE OF THING BEFORE. WHAT IS TOO COMMON IN YOUR WORLD IS NON-EXISTENT IN OURS.

SQUEAK.

"Ah, alright then. May I see my hourglass?" he asked, extending a shaky arm. 

Death did nothing for a moment, then pulled it out of his pockets once again. BE CAREFUL. EVEN THOUGH THROUGH PERSONAL CURIOSITY, I'VE TESTED, AND THAT ONE SEEMS NIGH INDESTRUCTIBLE, THEY'RE GENERALLY FRAGILE OBJECTS.

"Personal curiosity, eh?" he chuckled again, admiring the piece. He couldn't pick out every detail, through the utter and complete havoc, but he saw them, all in there, fighting for a spot to appear on the surface. Poor Igor was being stepped on by Twoflower. The only peaceful looking spot was near the bottom, where in large letters, the words _The Creator_ were etched delicately on the back of a turtle shell. Underneath it,  _Terence David John Pratchett._ "I wish I had more time to look at it," he said wistfully. "Will I even remember them?"

SQUEAK.

HE SAYS WE DON'T KNOW THAT EITHER. BUT THERE IS ONE LAST THING WE HAVE TIME FOR, IF YOU'LL JOIN US. Death gestured to Binky, the horse trotting up and nickering next to his ear. OH, BUT FIRST, WE SHOULD TAKE CARE OF WHAT I CAME HERE FOR.

"I see." Terence turned around to face the wall, tilting his neck to give Death the best possible angle. Like a child playing hide-and-go-seek, he covered his eyes with his hands. "Whenever you're ready"

The chop was swift, and rather than the pain he'd expected, he felt a ticklish wind around his ears. Instead of icy, it was more of a floating sensation, lukewarm, he would have said.

DONE. GOOD WE REMEMBERED, IT WOULD HAVE BEEN DIFFICULT TO BRING THE REST BACK OTHERWISE.

"That was straightforward." He straightened, leaving his body behind to slump forwards.

OF COURSE IT WAS. I CAME UP WITH IT AFTER ALL.

"Is it really turtles?" he asked, sitting down on the back of the saddle, Death climbing in front of him.

ALL THE WAY TO THE BOTTOM. Death kicked his heels into his side, and suddenly, the world went dark as they sped through space and time at a gentle canter.

 

* * *

 

A small eternity later, Binky finally pulled to a slow halt, trotting across the large square filthy rocks of Ankh-Morpork. Moving quickly, Death jumped off, the Rat still balanced miraculously on his shoulder. As they walked, Terry couldn't keep the smile off his face. "Are they all here?"

YES. THEY'RE WAITING FOR YOU.

"Isn't that jolly. Do they know about it?"

SQUEAK.

Death didn't bother to translate, the squeak wasn't for him. Thousands of rats surged forth from the only slightly dirtier sewers of the streets, crawling out of every nook and corner. They all raced towards the same destination, squeaking excitedly between each other, a mix of human and rodent words.

THEY DO NOW.

They reached the end of the street, and his grin grew so wide it seemed to split his face in two. All of them, all of his creations stood before him. A surge of pride flowed from his heart outwards, racing to embrace them all. Some were smiling back, a few were crying discreetly, and the remainder were doing both. Sam Vimes Jr. ran out to throw his arms around him, making Terry smile again as he was reminded of his own daughter.

"You've grown so much since I last wrote about you," he said caringly, embarrassing the young teen. "Where is your father?"

"Right here." Vimes stepped out of the crowd, removing his helmet dutifully. "With all due respect, we were waiting a long time, sir." The crowd looked eagerly onwards, he could see Tonker and Shufti clutching each other and sobbing, Maladict with a shattered mug in her hands as coffee spilled down her uniform. He saw Mort holding Ysabelle close, he saw Moist sitting on the shoulders of Mr. Pump, winged hat perched lopsided on his head, Granny Weatherwax and her little girl, and Rincewind standing next to a trunk with hundreds of little legs. The whole Nightwatch had turned out, and someone had even bothered to hang a painting of The Duchess.

And then, when no more could be thought or said, he finally heard a rumbling coming from the ground below them as Great A'tuin tilted his head back to look up at all the commotion.

"Oook," the Librarian said softly, slipping a leathery hand into his.

HE SAYS IT'S TIME.

 He grasped it tightly as his voice wobbled dangerously. "Why do I not feel happy?"

EMOTIONS ARE LEFT BEHIND. A MATTER OF GLANDS.

"Ah yes, I forgot. I've forgotten so much." He felt his voice getting weaker and weaker as he faded. "And I suppose whatever I believe will happen is going to happen now."

YES. THOUGH WHAT THAT MEANS FOR US, WE DON'T KNOW.

"You'll be fine," he said, barely a whisper. "I know it."

WE CAN ONLY HOPE. OTHERWISE I'LL BE FAR TOO BUSY. AT LAST, SIR TERRY, WE MUST WALK TOGETHER.

Terry took Death's arm, and followed him through the doors and on to the black desert under the endless night. And, with a sense of finality in everyone's heart, the Disc saw its last  _The End._


End file.
